Outsider
by TarnishDusk
Summary: Series of one-shots based on DA specializations.
1. Blood Mage

Outsider: Blood Mage

The young mage entered the room to find his lover on the floor, bleeding heavily, while a templar fixed his trousers. A burst of rage sent the mage flying toward the templar, but he was repelled by an almost casual backhand, casting him to the floor. The templar chuckled.  
"Pretty little thing, wasn't she? Shame she decided to make a fuss of it." he said, the mage as he rose to his feet.  
The mage's second assault was almost stopped as the templar thrust an open palm out to knock the mage down, but the mage ducked under his arm and thrust two fingers up the templar's nostrils. A stream of flame surged from his fingers into the templar's lungs, searing him from the inside.

The mage scooped up the body of his lover, ignoring the templar's death throes. He walked away, through the tower and out onto the streets. Curious eyes were deflected by powerful magic fed by the blood still draining from the girl's body. The mage lay her down in a room circled by runes. Soldiers and enchanters would call it a silverite rune, but a denizen of Tevinter would regard it properly as the name of Dumat, Old God of Silence. The girl lay on an altar, surrounded by runes drawn to prevent the decay of her body. The runes were powered by a coffin filled with blood that lay behind her. "Not another word," the mage swore silently. "The next time I speak, I will be welcoming you back to the world."  
He left the chamber silently, ensuring that the runes at its entrance, learned from demons of Sloth with the ability to ward off the curious, remained functional.

The mage slowly pulled himself back out of his memories, his dreams, and back into the cell that he now inhabited. His form had grown emaciated from the time spent doting on the shine, ensuring that it remained sated for blood, and the hours spent reliving his memories of their time together, reminding himself of what he was attempting to restore.  
Runes laid by the soulless Tranquil inhibited his magic, but the Paragon Flame rune inscribed on his coat still kept him warm despite the chill of the prison. The mage paid no heed to his surroundings, instead fixating on the purpose that had resulted in his imprisonment.

The runes needed more blood.


	2. Reaver

Outsider: Reaver

The warrior rushed after the Nevarran hunters, pushed on by the dragon's blood in his veins, demanding the blood of the hunters in payment for the blood of his clan's high dragon, slain by their hands. He carried a bone broken from the body of their Lady during the fight. Already, it had felled two hunters, but the Reaver's honor demanded all of them die.  
Despite his heavy weaponry, he moved with an unnatural speed as he pursued the hunters, but their horses moved faster. However, the horses would soon grow weary, while the Reaver was sustained by the dragon blood he had consumed. As patriarch of the clan, it was his duty to send a message to the hunters, to all those who would seek to cause his clan or his charges harm.

The hunters soon arrived at a semi-permanent camp, the Reaver not far behind. He veered off into the trees that flanked the main path, finding some cover from the eyes of the hunters. He moved with precision and purpose as he slipped through the trees, moving closer to the camp, while trying to avoid detection. The hunters were well aware of his initial pursuit, but they underestimated the endurance and determination of a Reaver.  
As they set their horses to rest and prepared themselves for the same, the hunters were unaware of the patriarch's presence. Until it grew dark, the Reaver waited, watching the dragon hunters as they ate and discussed their most recent kill. Perfectly comfortable in the near-dark, the Reaver moved swiftly, stalking into their camp quickly and quietly.

However, the hunters numbered greater than the Reaver knew, and those who had not taken part in the fight had seen his approach and remained hidden upon the others' return. Now, they rose from cover and from shadows and rained arrows on the dragon cultist. The Reaver allowed the burning of the dragon blood to overtake him, charging at the ambushers. Arrows bounced off his armor and some even struck clean into his torso, but the Reaver did not hesitate. He swung the crude club of dragon bone into the legs of a hunter, smashing them before slamming the bone into his chest, crushing his ribcage. The second fell to a single, powerful blow to the head, caving in his skull.  
More arrows struck the Reaver and he began to bleed more profusely. His onslaught did not slow, however. If anything, it pushed him harder, driving him to destroy those who had slain his dragon. Another hunter emerged, but rather than attack with a bow, he moved forward with a large greatsword in his hands.

The hunter's boldness earned a measure of respect from the Reaver, but no mercy. He moved forward swiftly, bringing his club around in a wide arc aimed at the hunter's head. The hunter ducked beneath the swing and then dodged back to avoid the following uppercut. The greatsword swatted the dragonbone club aside and brought the flat of the blade against the Reaver's head. He staggered to his hands and knees, seeing stars.  
Another hunter approached. "No one has ever captured a cultist alive."  
"Well, then. This should be interesting." the other replied. "Make sure his restraints are secure." The Reaver attempted to rise to his feet, only to be knocked out for good by the hilt of the hunter's blade.

The Reaver waited patiently within his cell, certain of aid arriving soon. He looked slowly around, noting the few guards and an emaciated young man in the cell across the hall and one over from his own. Help would arrive soon, then he would be able to find the hunters.

Vengeance was only a matter of time.


End file.
